Welcome Aboard, Colonel Hogan
by jodm
Summary: Two new POWs pose a problem for Hogan. The answer-McHale's Navy!


_Note: In the fourth year of the series, McHale's Navy moved from the South Pacific to the Mediterranean. This got me thinking—could McHale and Hogan ever have met? The inspiration for this story came from two episodes of McHale's Navy: "McHale and His Schweinhunds" (season 2) and "Who Was That German I Saw You With?" (season 4). This story is a fusion of two great series. _

_The exact location of McHale's base in Voltafiore was never specified. I've played around with the geography for the sake of the story._

_Hogan's Heroes and McHale's Navy belong to others. I just like to hang around with them!_

**WELCOME ABOARD, COLONEL HOGAN!**

_**On the road near Hammelburg, Germany**_

Ensign Charles Parker—Chuck to his friends—groaned and opened his eyes, hoping the events of the last few days were nothing more than a nightmare. Unfortunately, they weren't. He was still handcuffed to a dead-to-the world Captain Binghamton and stuck in the back of a truck bumping along a rutted road somewhere in . . . Germany? He looked at the fat sergeant sitting across from him, rifle on his lap. The man was munching a chocolate bar! Parker gazed around carefully and noticed two other prisoners, a British corporal and a young American sergeant, who spoke to the guard, "Hey, Schultzie—one of our sailors is awake. Maybe we should introduce ourselves? I'm Andrew Carter and this is my friend Peter Newkirk. He's British. We're from Stalag 13—that's where we're going. Oh, by the way, this is Sergeant Schultz. He's our guard. He never loads his rifle. We just finished a work detail and . . ."

Corporal Newkirk shook his head. "Blimey, Carter, that's too much information. What's your name, Mate, and what's a couple of Navy officers doing heading for a Luftwaffe Stalag?"

"Ensign Charles Parker, United States Navy, serial number . . . I forget," the still-groggy ensign groaned. "And this," indicating the sleeping captain, "is Captain Wallace B. Binghamton, our base commander. A German patrol picked us up a couple of days ago when we took a wrong turn and got lost. We've got to get out of here—the Skip is gonna be really mad if we don't get back soon!"

"And the guv'nor's not gonna be too happy about it, either," Newkirk thought.

#########

_**McHale's Beach, Voltafiore, Italy**_

The Skip—Lt. Commander Quinton McHale—definitely wasn't happy. In fact, he was worried and getting more so by the hour. Parker and Binghamton had been missing for a couple of days; rumor had it that they were last seen being picked up by a German patrol and their whereabouts were currently unknown. For McHale and the crew of PT 73, Binghamton's disappearance was no loss. Actually, it was something to rejoice over as it meant freedom at least for a while from the Captain's meddling incompetence. The possible loss of Ensign Parker, on the other hand, was another story. Yes, Chuck might be clumsy and accident prone, but he was definitely one of theirs and they wanted him back. And if it meant rescuing Binghamton too, well, that was just part of the package. At least if the captain was found, it would get the insufferable Lt. Elroy Carpenter, the base commander's assistant, off their backs!

"Gruber, Christy, Virgil, Willy, Tinker! You, too, Fuji!" McHale called for a conference. "We've gotta find where the Krauts took Parker. I'm gonna go visit my cousin Guiseppe to see if he's picked up any gossip. You guys check with the local folks, especially the mayor and his cronies. Willy, you and Fuji stay on the radio. Monitor all, and I mean all, com bands including anything Carpenter does. Crack into the Kraut bands, too. Get all the gossip you can. We'll meet back here in three hours. I'll want enough info to get some kind of a plan together." A chorus of "Aye, Aye, Skippers" told the PT boat commander that his orders had been heard and understood. Operation Find Chuck was underway.

#########

_**Stalag 13**_

"Truck's pulling in," Sergeant James Kinchloe—Kinch to his friends—reported. "Carter and Newkirk are back from that work detail. And it looks like we've got two new guys."

Hogan and LeBeau cracked the barracks door and looked across the compound. Carter was nearly bouncing with excitement; Newkirk sauntered at a leisurely pace while Schultz ordered the new POWs out of the truck with his usual "Raus! Raus! Schnell! Don't keep Kommandant Klink waiting." Hogan grinned as he watched the familiar routine, "Guess I'd better pay the Bald Eagle a visit. Geneva Convention and all that. Don't want the new guys to wind up in the cooler on their first day here in lovely Stalag 13!" Then, catching sight of their uniforms, he exclaimed, "Navy! And officers! What the . . .? Plug in the coffee pot!" He headed for the Kommandantur.

"Not now, Hogan. Can't you see I'm busy?" whined Kommandant Klink as the American colonel barged unceremoniously into his office. "I have new prisoners to interrogate! Dismissed! Schultz, escort Hogan back to the barracks."

"Sorry, Kommandant," Hogan retorted. "The Geneva Convention requires that the senior POW officer be present at the interrogation of all incoming prisoners." Noting Binghamton's captain's stripes, he added, "I am still senior POW officer, I presume?"

"Yes, yes, Hogan," a very annoyed Colonel Klink replied. Hogan nodded. "Good. Now, gentlemen, I remind you that you are only required to give name, rank, and serial number and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?" He had a gut feeling that at least one of these men could be trouble and he wanted to make the chain of command as clear as possible. "By the way, I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer."

Parker's "Pleased to meet you, Colonel," was almost immediately drowned out by the Captain's "Wallace B. Binghamton. And as a captain and base commander—and commodore of the largest yacht club in San Diego—I presume we will share authority over the prisoners. Now, where are my quarters? Parker can bunk with the enlisted men."

Hogan rubbed the bridge of his nose—he could feel a bad headache coming on. "Oh, no," he thought. "Just what we need, another Crittendon!" He would have been comforted had he known that Newkirk, listening to the conversation in Hogan's quarters, had voiced the same thought to the rest of the team. The American POW officer turned to the Kommandant, noting "Sir, it's obvious that these men are suffering a lot of stress as a result of their capture and their arrival in a Luftwaffe camp instead of a naval one. May I suggest that they spend a day or two in the infirmary so that Wilson can check them out? After all, they might be carrying some illness or other and you wouldn't want the whole camp, including yourself, to get sick, would you?"

Klink blanched at the thought. He remembered all too well the last round of colds that had passed through the Stalag. He'd caught one and been miserable for a week. He definitely did not want to be subjected to any more of LeBeau's home remedies. "Good thought," he responded. "Schultz, escort these men to the infirmary. You go with them, Colonel. And just so you know," Klink added, "you are now guests of the Third Reich in the most secure prison camp in all of Germany. There has never been, or ever will be, a successful escape from Stalag 13!" Hogan let out the breath he'd been holding as he threw the German officer a sloppy salute. Now, with a couple of extra days, he could hopefully figure out what to do with these new—and very unwelcome—visitors.

Once at the infirmary, Schultz waited just long enough for the camp medic, Wilson, to appear. The young corpsman looked a question at his commanding officer, who told him, "New prisoners. Check them out and keep them here until I tell you differently. I'll send LeBeau over with some lunch in a little while." Then, glaring at the two Navy men, he added, "You'll follow Wilson's orders for the time being. And Binghamton, any information, even something as unimportant as being 'commodore of a yacht club in San Diego' could be useful to the enemy. Make no mistake, the Germans here are—no matter what you think—still the enemy." The two nodded, Binghamton with some reluctance. "Just who is really running this camp?" Parker wondered silently.

#########

_**McHale's Beach, Voltafiore, Italy**_

McHale looked at his crew impatiently. "OK, what have we learned?" he spit out, waiting for a response. His own visit with Cousin Giuseppe had confirmed the information that Parker and Binghamton had indeed been picked up by a German patrol heading north, but nothing beyond that. The same story was circulating around the town of Voltafiore, where their headquarters were located, but again it was as if they were dealing with phantoms that swooped down and then disappeared. But why would the Krauts want Binghamton? There was no more incompetent officer in the Navy! Their capture must have been simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Willy and Fuji had more to add. The two men had been seen boarding a train with their captors and were heading for a prison camp, one Stalag 13, near the small German town of Hammelburg. McHale pulled out a map. "Hmmm . . . not especially near the water. We can't rescue them by PT boat and we'll need someone who might know the area." He thought a bit. "Major Bonacelli."

Bonacelli, one-time head of an Italian POW camp, was indeed familiar with Stalag 13 and the area around Hammelburg. A collaborator of the underground—and responsible for passing on valuable information about German troop movements—he was, with a little persuasion, happy to be of service in retrieving the missing officers. Besides, he could possibly look forward to some of Corporal LeBeau's good cooking for a day or two! And speaking of 'good cooking,' the meal the Japanese POW / chef had prepared was delicious. That young man could cook! The promise of a few more such dinners was all the persuasion the Italian major needed.

"OK, Major," McHale opened the conversation. "We want to get Chuck and Binghamton out of Stalag 13 and back here. What's the best way to get into the camp? How did you do it?" Noting a momentary hesitation on the Italian's part, the Skipper pressed the issue. The sooner they got Chuck home with them, the better! Bonacelli finally explained that he had gone as the senior officer of a POW camp to, as he put it, "learn from the Master—Kommandant Klink." He shook his head as he continued, "Klink claims he runs the toughest prison camp in all of Germany, but it's really Colonel Hogan, the senior POW officer, who is actually in charge. You'll need to find a way to get into the camp and contact him. He has an entire rescue operation going on, so if anyone can get your men out, he and his team can,"

"So, getting out isn't a problem," commented torpedoman Lester Gruber, "but getting in might be. We don't want to go in as prisoners ourselves." McHale nodded, then, as an idea began to take shape, he said, "Not as prisoners, as German Naval officers! Gruber, you still got any of those officers' uniforms we took off that Kraut patrol boat we caught last month?"

"You bet, Skip. Still got some Japanese uniforms in the souvenir locker, too," the torpedoman—and crew con man—answered. "Anything else you need?"

"Yeah," McHale replied. "A Japanese officer's uniform for Fuji. Make it a commander. I'll be Fuji's escort from the Kraut Navy. We're gonna inspect the camp, maybe 'recognize' Parker and Binghamton as escaped prisoners from a Japanese camp on, let's see, Taratupa, and take them back with us. Major, how about you joining us as some kind of liaison, seeing as how you and this Kommandant Klink are already buddies?"

"I was afraid you'd ask that," Bonacelli groaned, "But I'll do it. One suggestion—no German Navy Captain would go anywhere without an aide. You'll need to take one of your men with you. And you'll need to come up with German versions of your names."

"Good point. I'll take Christy. How about Captain Haller and Lieutenant Christener? Fuji can keep his own name, Commander Kobiaji." The crew burst out laughing. The Skipper, a Kraut Captain? Christy, Fuji, officers? This would be one for the history books!

Almost as if reading McHale's mind, machinist mate Tinker Bell asked, "When do we leave, Skipper?" His CO smirked, "Tomorrow night. I'll tell Carpenter we're going on a long patrol. We'll take the boat as far north as we can, then hide her while our rescue team heads for that Stalag. Guys, make sure the old 73 is fully supplied, extra torpedoes, depth charges, and ammo; all the fuel she can carry; batteries for the radio—extras there, too—plenty of food for at least a week. Gruber, we'll need fake I.D. papers, German and Japanese, and lots of German money. Got that, everybody?"

A chorus of "Got it, Skippers" confirmed the response. Gruber added' "Don't need to forge papers, got some blank ones along with those uniforms. Plenty of deutschmarks, too. Do you want real or fake?"

"Let's go with the genuine," McHale grinned. "I want to keep this as realistic as possible. We pull out at 1700 tomorrow!" Then, almost as an afterthought, "Fuji, I want you to speak only Japanese. I'll translate—that's my excuse for being with you. My German is OK, learned it as a kid. Christy, you'd better stick with 'yes, no and 'jawohl'. Stalag 13, here we come!"

#########

PT 73, now fully restocked and combat ready and waiting, slipped from the dock and headed north. Avoiding other ships, allied and otherwise, McHale and crew made for a secluded bay in the north of Italy. Final touches were made on their cover story: Fuji, now Commander Kobiaji, Imperial Japanese Navy, was on a secret and unannounced inspection tour of German POW camps to compare them with those of his own country. Captain Haller, an expert on German-Japanese relations was accompanying him as an escort and interpreter; Lt. Christener served as an aide and assistant to the Captain, while Major Bonacelli was supposedly tasked with contacting the various camps and setting up surprise visits. Of course, Stalag 13, as the most secure camp in all of Germany, would be first on the list. Once there, Bonacelli would make the initial contact with the senior POW officer. After that, they would have to depend on Hogan and wing it from there.

The 73 was secured and the crew was left with orders to stay out of sight and not to set up any illegal operations—Gruber's con games being the greatest concern. McHale's rescue team, with the help of the Italian major's underground contacts, headed for Stalag 13.

#########

_**Stalag 13**_

Hogan looked at his team. "You heard the conversation in Klink's office. Any thoughts?"

"Binghamton," Kinch spoke up. "He worries me. He's ambitious. Seems to like to push his rank around." He caught Hogan's eye and read his thoughts. "Want me to radio London and find out what I can about our guests?"

"In a few minutes," the senior POW officer replied. "Carter, Newkirk, you rode in with them. What did you learn?" Newkirk shook his head. "Not much, Guv'nor. They were already on the truck and asleep when we were picked up. Their guard turned them over to Schultz and we headed back here. Tried to bribe Schultzie with my last chocolate bar, but as usual, he knew nothing, N-O-T-H-I-N-G."

Newkirk's imitation of the overweight German guard got a laugh from the team, but a look from Hogan called them back to business. "Carter, what about you?"

"Well," the young demolitions expert responded, "Mr. Parker was the only one to wake up, and he was so nervous that he couldn't remember his serial number." Newkirk smirked, "I'm surprised he remembered his name, he was that scared."

"We need more info!" the colonel barked. "LeBeau, I told Wilson I'd send you over with some lunch. Take Carter with you and find out all you can. Talk to Parker—he just might be more likely to say something. Be careful of Binghamton. He's more pompous than Klink and Crittendon put together, and more likely to try to pull rank. Kinch, go give London a call now."

A series of "OK, Colonel, Oui, mon Colonel, and Right away, sir" told their commanding officer that his men were on the job.

"What about me, Guv'nor?" Newkirk questioned. "Klink's office hasn't been cleaned today, has it?" Hogan grinned. "Grab a broom—you're on housekeeping duty. Pick up anything, and I mean that literally if possible, anything that might be helpful." The British corporal just snickered at the reference to his pick pocketing and petty thieving skills.

As LeBeau and Carter prepared the lunch trays, Hogan said, "I'd better stay here. No telling when Schultz might decide to check up on us." The chef nodded, "I have some strudel ready for him if he does. That should keep him busy for a while."

"Yeah," the Colonel answered with his trademark lopsided grin. "Just as long as it takes him to engulf it!"

#########

Hogan, impatient for news, paced back and forth in the main room of Barracks 2. He needed information and so far, had almost nothing except names and ranks to go on. He turned quickly as the bunk that hid the entrance to the tunnel system opened and Kinch climbed out.

"London did some checking," the radioman reported. "Our two sailors are from a base in Voltafiore, Italy. Parker's the exec of a PT boat skippered by Lt. Commander Quinton McHale, a real character if even half the stories I heard can be believed. That boat has quite a record of enemy ships sunk or captured—and quite a record of questionable dealings both here and in the South Pacific, where they're known as 'McHale's Navy.' Binghamton really is their base commander. Wants to be an admiral and seems to think that finding a way to court martial McHale and his crew is the way to earn his star. He's the Navy's version of Klink. He doesn't realize it, but the only reason he still has his captain's stripes is because of McHale's record."

"Hmmm . . .," Hogan ran his hand through his hair. "Is this McHale likely to try a rescue?"

"No info there," Kinch shook his head. "But given his record, I wouldn't be surprised. If he does, it will likely be a wild plan, like something you might think up!"

"Thanks, Kinch," Hogan grinned. "Let's see what the rest of the guys come back with. Guess I'll need to visit our Navy officers myself later this afternoon."

#########

Carter and LeBeau returned from the infirmary; Newkirk from sweeping Klink's office. All three had something to report. Kinch filled them in on London's information. Carter noted that Ensign Parker seemed extremely worried—nothing new there, while the captain was ranting about privileges of rank. Hogan groaned at that one. The most surprising news came from the Britisher. Klink had received word that an inspection party would be arriving shortly, headed by a Captain Haller from the German Navy. "They sure didn't waste any time coming to inspect the new prisoners, did they," Newkirk grumbled. "Maybe they'll solve the problem for us by taking them away." Hogan wasn't so certain. "Maybe they'll only make it bigger. Guess I'd better head over to the infirmary for a little interrogation of my own."

As the Colonel left the barracks, he was almost run over by an out-of-breath Sergeant Schultz who informed him "The Kommandant wants to see you in his office, now! I ran all the way over here to tell you. Don't keep him waiting. Oh, and LeBeau, I thought I smelled strudel baking. Did you save some for me?" The little Frenchman rolled his eyes as Hogan headed over to see what Klink wanted. Questioning the new prisoners would have to wait.

Hogan gave Fraulein Hilda a quick squeeze, then said, "The Kommandant sent for me?" She winked, then answered demurely, "Go right in, Colonel Hogan. I think he needs your help with something." As Hogan entered Klink's office, the German officer said sarcastically, "Ah, Hogan. Good of you to take time out of your busy schedule."

"Little does he know," the Colonel thought.

"Hogan, we have a special inspection in a day or so—I couldn't get an exact arrival time, but I want you and your men to be on their best behavior. The team will include one of our Japanese allies and I want to make a good impression. Oh, and I'll need LeBeau to cook a special dinner and your men to help serve."

Hogan sensed an opening for bargaining. Maybe an extra hour of electricity for a few days? Klink quickly gave in, then, remembering something else, asked, "What about the two new prisoners? Has Wilson checked them yet?

"Just on my way over there to find out." Hogan threw a quick salute and left the office as Klink clenched a fist in frustration muttering, "Dismissed."

#########

Captain Wallace B. Binghamton was at his pompous best when Hogan walked into the infirmary. Without any preamble, the naval officer began reciting his list of demands—he called them requirements—private quarters befitting his rank, shared authority, stricter discipline, escape plans. In short, he wanted to be in charge. Hogan listened for a moment as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. That headache was back full force, but now he could put a name on it.

"Enough!" Hogan snarled in a low voice. "Now hear this, Binghamton," he said in his best imitation of naval discipline, "I am the senior POW officer and you will follow my orders or I will find some way to have Klink throw you in the brig for the rest of the war and maybe for a year after that!" Parker, watching this exchange, was stunned. The colonel meant what he said.

Hogan turned to Wilson. "Report to Colonel Klink in about an hour. Tell him these two are OK and ask to have them assigned to a barracks. Mention that we have room in Barracks 2—probably wouldn't hurt if you hinted that Binghamton might be a good influence." He added quietly, "And it will enable us to keep an eye on them." The dark-haired officer headed back to the barracks to plan the next step with his team, then stopped and turned to the two Navy men. "You'll both be bunking with the enlisted men. This is not an officers' camp. There are no special privileges here. And by the way, we have a strict no escape policy, in case you have any ideas along those lines." Seeing the look on the two officers' faces, he finished, "No questions. I'll explain later, once you're moved to the barracks."

Once back in Barracks 2, Hogan called his team together for a short meeting. Filling them on his visit to the infirmary, he remarked, "I know you guys probably don't want our two sailors in this barracks, but it's the best way to keep an eye on them—and it means that they will need to know about the operation."

"Ya think they can be trusted, Guv'nor?" Newkirk questioned. "Or are we going to try to get them out?"

"Get them out," the C.O. replied, "after we take care of another little project." Seeing the question on the faces of his team, Hogan quickly briefed them on the upcoming visit of the special inspection team. "We'll grab them and ship them off to England too, if possible. That Japanese officer could have intelligence our side can use."

"So what do I cook for them?" This from LeBeau as he began to plan a menu. Hogan noted that two of the visitors were German, so any of the little chef's regular dishes would do. "I'll try to get Klink to invite me—give him a model prisoner of war to show off," the colonel snickered. "Meanwhile, let's get ready for our new guests."

#########

After two days in Barracks 2, Binghamton was definitely unhappy with the circumstances. Parker just looked lost, kind of like a puppy dog left behind by his master on the first day of school. He recognized Carter and Newkirk as the guys from the truck, but there was just too much else to take in. And now Hogan was talking about tunnels and radios and sabotage operations! And it was all top secret! He really hoped the Skip would find them soon. Another day or two like this one and he'd try to escape no matter what Hogan said.

#########

"Hammelburg is the next stop," Major Bonacelli informed his companions and co-conspirators. "Someone from the Underground will meet us at the train station with a car and drive us to Stalag 13. Klink does know we are coming, but the timing of our arrival will keep him off balance."

"What's his usual procedure with inspections?"

"Commander—or should I say, Captain," the major replied, "he will invite us to dinner—a good one, I might add, as one of the POWs is an excellent French chef—and he usually invites Hogan as well. That will give us the opportunity to make contact and set up a meeting." McHale nodded, then translated the conversation for Fuji. "Might as well stay in character," the PT boat commander thought.

The first look at Stalag 13 just over an hour later was depressing: drab barracks, guard towers, barbed wire fencing, armed guards, a few dejected-looking prisoners milling around in the compound. Not a place to spend a war! McHale spotted someone who could only be Colonel Klink—was the man really wearing a monocle and carrying a riding crop tucked under his arm—coming from the Kommandantur to greet them. The PT boat skipper shook his head a he looked at his companions. The sooner they got Parker and Binghamton out of here and back to Voltafiore, the better.

#########

From inside the barracks, Hogan also watched the new arrivals. "Interesting bunch," the colonel thought. "That Japanese officer doesn't look old enough to be a commander. And that German Navy captain! And what's Major Bonacelli doing with them?" He'd have to corner the major later . . . His train of thought was interrupted by a gasp from Ensign Parker. "It's the Skip! And Fuji and Christy!"

Binghamton roughly shouldered the young ensign aside. "McHale!" he snarled. "I knew it! He's a German spy, a traitor. And he's in league with the Japanese! A firing squad would be too good for him. Treason! I'll see that he's hanged for this." Binghamton's reaction reached volcanic proportions as he headed for the door, only to be stopped by Kinch and Newkirk.

"Calm down, Captain," Hogan ordered. Then, turning to Parker, "The Skip—McHale?" Chuck nodded. "Christy and Fuji, part of your crew?"

"Christy's the quartermaster," Chuck offered. "Fuji's our POW. He surrendered to us three years ago at Taratupa." Binghamton turned beet red. The 73 boat's crew had a POW? What next? And how did they get him to Voltafiore? Conspiracy on top of conspiracy!

"Everyone in my office," Hogan motioned. "Parker, Captain, you too. Look's like this McHale is planning a rescue. Plug in the coffee pot, Kinch. Let's see what we've got."

The bug in Klink's office revealed little more than they already knew: Commander Kobiaji was here to observe, study, and learn the Kommandant's methods with an eye to applying them to his own camps in the Pacific region. Captain Haller acted as a liaison and since he held the same rank as Klink, theirs was a conversation between equals. Bonacelli, in his role as a guide for the Naval officers, asked for a tour of the camp and Klink, glad to oblige (after all, it might help him win that coveted promotion to general), offered to conduct the tour himself.

Hogan shook his head. "Guess we'd better be on our best behavior. That goes for you, too," he added to Parker and Binghamton. "For the time being, McHale and the others are what they're pretending to be—no sign of recognition or we'll all be in the cooler or worse." Nobody needed to ask what the "or worse" was.

#########

The tour of the camp was cursory—no time for Bonacelli to do more than quietly tell Hogan that he needed to see the colonel and soon. Klink was at his pompous best, continually bragging about his perfect no escape record, his completely demoralized prisoners (Hogan smirked at that one), and the over-all discipline he maintained. Before leaving Barracks 2, he reminded Hogan that LeBeau would be preparing a special dinner for his guests. "And perhaps Colonel Hogan might be invited also?" Major Bonacelli asked. "I believe Captain Haller speaks some English and will be able to translate any conversation for our esteemed Japanese guest. He might gain some valuable insights into your most successful methods." Swayed, as always, by the flattery, Klink responded with an "Of course, Colonel Hogan. You will attend as well." Hogan simply nodded while thinking, "Step One accomplished."

Dinner with Colonel Klink was . . .dinner with Colonel Klink. Civil, more or less, with Hogan baiting the Kommandant, McHale listening intently, Schultz in the kitchen trying every dish, and, as always, LeBeau's cooking superb. The Skip saw Fuji's interest in each dish the little Frenchman prepared; PT 73's resident POW / chef was obviously taking notes! Hogan managed to let Bonacelli know to expect a visit later that night.

Step Two accomplished.

#########

Quinton McHale and his men were still awake. He checked a nearby clock—1 A.M.—as they tried to sort out their impressions. Klink was a fool, another Binghamton, but not to be underestimated. Hogan, now that was another story. He'd played the Kommandant, played on his vanity, his pride in his perfect no escape record; The PT boat skipper was sure this was SOP for the American colonel. He needed to meet with the senior POW officer to discuss ways of getting Chuck and the Captain back, but when?

A sudden movement caught his attention. The stove was pushed away to reveal a tunnel entrance and Hogan climbed out. "Commander McHale," he stated. "What do you think you're doing here?" McHale caught the edge of annoyance—anger—in the Colonel's voice as he responded, "Getting Parker back. Don't worry; we'll take Old Leadbottom, too."

"This isn't a game!" the Colonel replied forcefully. "Just let the Gestapo discover you, and all our lives are at stake."

The Navy officer didn't back down. "As if they aren't every time the old 73 goes out on patrol or you take on a new mission. Chasing a sub in a small wooden boat isn't exactly a picnic, Colonel. We know the risks. Now, do we work together or do my crew and I have to go this alone? Either way, Parker and Binghamton leave with us."

"And just how do you propose to do that?"

"Chuck and the Captain are escaped prisoners from a Japanese POW camp. Fuji—that's 'Commander Kobiaji' over there—recognized them and will demand that they be turned over to us. What we need from you is a way to get back to the 73 safely."

"Just that?" Hogan felt another headache coming on. "Just get you back to a PT boat parked who knows where? And where exactly is it? I haven't heard of any Mosquito Fleet in the Channel."

"Left her in good hands in a cove on the northern border of Italy. Major Bonacelli's Underground contacts are looking out for the 73. My crew can handle any Kraut patrols but I would like to check in with them once we have the details worked out."

Bonacelli spoke up, "If you can get us to the border, my contacts can take over from there."

"Just like that? And how much experience have you had with the Krauts anyway?"

McHale grinned. "We've sunk three subs and ran a patrol boat aground in the last couple of months. That's where we got the uniforms and the paperwork. And that doesn't count the U-boat we captured off Taratupa a couple of years ago. Parker and Torpedoman Gruber did a great job impersonating German officers. Why, the sub's captain even wore a monocle and carried a riding crop!"

Hogan laughed. "Point made. I'll talk it over with my team. Meanwhile, carry on with your plans. Fuji, once you 'recognize' your escaped prisoners, have them put in the cooler. We'll take it from there." On to Step Three!

#########

Hogan's team met in the tunnels; he wanted to share the rescue plan without interference from Captain Binghamton. He explained McHale's plan to his men, noting that he had a few "local improvements" to add. "We'll get them out tonight," he went over his plan. "And here's how we're gonna do it . . ."

"Blimey, Guv'nor," Newkirk responded with a grin. Do you think those two will go along with it?"

"Parker will," the colonel answered. "McHale's his Skipper. He'll trust any plan that man comes up with. It's that captain who's likely to be a problem. Carter, go wake them up and get them down here so we can fill them in. Kinch, contact the Underground and get things set up."

As Hogan predicted, Parker was more than willing to go along with the Skipper's plans. Binghamton definitely was the problem. His on-going complaints had already alerted Hogan that there could be trouble, big trouble, ahead. The captain had made it known that he hated roll call. That obese German sergeant and his "Raus! Raus!" got on his nerves. He wanted to get back to the world he knew, the world where he was in charge. What's more, he was freezing and now had to look forward to some time in the cooler as part of an escape plan. He wanted to escape, damn Hogan's operation, Hogan's rules, but the colonel ordered him to go along with McHale or he would be sent to a naval POW camp for the rest of the war. Binghamton decided to take Hogan's advice and dress warm.

#########

McHale looked at his team. "Okay, Fuji, once we get to Klink's office, you make a big fuss about Binghamton and Chuck. Insist that they be put in confinement. I'll ask for a truck and a staff car to transport us to the Hammelburg. Bonacelli will ride in the truck with one of Klink's men as a driver. We'll take the staff car. We'll leave this evening. The colonel has a little 'ambush' planned so that we can disappear safely. He'll take it from there. We'd better stay together today. I'll use Hogan's radio later to contact the 73. Gruber'd better not have set up any card games with the locals or I'll have him scrubbing the deck with a toothbrush! Now, everybody OK for this morning?

Nods and an "Aye-Aye, Skipper" affirmed the response. McHale's Navy headed for Klink's office. It would be fun to see Binghamton in the brig! Hopefully, the irascible captain would behave himself long enough for the escape plan to succeed.

#########

"McHale and his crew are heading for Klink's office," Newkirk, on guard duty, reported. The coffee pot was already warmed up, so the guys moved to Hogan's quarters to catch the conversation.

Fuji gave an outstanding performance. Even without an understanding of Japanese, the POWs caught the sizzling undertone of anger and demand. McHale's translation seemed to leave Klink speechless. "Escaped POWs? You want them back? You'll take them with you?" the Kommandant sputtered. "How will you insure their security when they are already in the most escape-proof prison camp in all of Germany?"

"Yeah, right!" Carter commented under his breath. LeBeau couldn't suppress a laugh and even Hogan and Kinch smiled. Parker and Binghamton just stood there. McHale was planning to turn them over to Fuji?

McHale grinned wolfishly at Klink's questions. "We have our ways."

"Trouble, Colonel." Newkirk rushed into the senior POW's quarters. "Hochstetter's pulling up."

"Kinch," ordered Hogan. "Get below. Activate that bug in the phone and patch into the system. Intercept any calls Klink or Hochstetter might make. Improvise if you have to!" The radioman was on his way to the tunnel almost before Hogan finished speaking. "Carter will let you know what's happening up here."

#########

Hochstetter pushed his way into Klink's office. The befuddled colonel stammered a greeting and introduced his visitors. The Gestapo major leered at McHale. "Captain Haller. I don't believe I know you. Why was I not informed of your mission?"

"I don't believe I know you, either," the supposed captain answered. But then, I have been in the Pacific region working as a liaison with our allies in the Imperial Navy. I see no reason for you to be informed of this mission. You are obviously not a naval officer and this mission is none of your business."

"On the contrary," Hochstetter said. "Everything is the business of the Gestapo. Suppose I just call Navy headquarters to confirm what you have just told me.." Hochstetter picked up the phone. "Get me Admiral von Graff, naval intelligence."

Carter signaled Kinch, who cut in immediately. "Admiral von Graff's office. This is Lt. Kinchmeyer speaking. The admiral is in a meeting today. May I take a message?" Hochstetter's always hair-trigger temper moved to volcanic levels. "Kinchmeyer? I know that name! This is Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, Gestapo. Get me the admiral now! I have uncovered a plot involving the Navy."

"I'm sorry, Major, but the Admiral is away." Kinch said calmly. "You are in command of the Gestapo unit in Hammelburg, are you not? My uncle, General Kinchmeyer, speaks highly of you. I will inform Admiral von Graff when he returns from Berchtesgaden."

The major slammed the phone down. "Bah! You may go about your business. But I warn you, we will be watching!" He turned and left the office. Klink, shaking badly, sat down. McHale quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

#########

Hogan, now down in the tunnel, breathed a sigh of relief as well. One major problem averted, at least for now. They'd need to be extra-cautious later, in case Hochstetter was watching. "Good work, Kinch. Nothing like a little name-dropping to soothe the savage Major. Give your uncle the General my thanks." Kinch responded with a snort of laughter and the men went back to the common room. If everything continued according to plan, Schultz should be over in a few minutes to pick up the "escaped prisoners." The Colonel reassured the two Navy men. "We'll have you on the road back to your base in a few hours. We will need to be careful about Hochstetter. He's dangerous."

"So's the Skip," said Parker.

Sergeant Schultz appeared right on schedule. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan, but the Kommandant has asked me to escort the two new prisoners to the cooler. They have already escaped once from a camp in the Pacific. Commander Kobiaji recognized them and will be taking them back." Schultz waved his (unloaded) rifle in the direction of the naval officers. "Raus! Schnell!" At a nod from the American colonel, the two complied.

Hogan folded his arms. "Schultz, I'm coming with you. These men are under my command. I want to make sure they're all right," he said. "And," he thought, "make sure they're in the cell that connects with the tunnels."

#########

Parker was freezing. Binghamton was complaining—again. Chuck was wishing, for the tenth time, that he outranked the captain just so that he could tell the man to shut up, when a block in the wall moved out of the way and Corporal LeBeau appeared with two bowls of hot stew. "Le Colonel thought you might want lunch. It may a while before dinner. He will be here later to fill you in on the next step."

Chuck blinked in surprise. Was there any place in this camp that couldn't be reached by tunnel? "Thanks, LeBeau. This tastes great. Fuji couldn't have done any better!" Not sure if that was a compliment, the little chef simply smiled and retrieved the empty bowls with a "Merci, mes amis. Colonel Hogan will be here to see you in a few minutes. He is allowed to visit prisoners in the cooler," he said by way of explanation as he left through the tunnel.

Binghamton paced impatiently, wanting more than ever to strangle McHale, Hogan, Klink, anyone he could get his hands on. "What am I doing here?" he muttered. "Parker, you idiot, if you hadn't gotten us lost, I'd be in Voltafiore enjoying a nice lunch instead of freezing in this cell waiting for a bunch of POWs to liberate me! Damn McHale! When we get back to the base, I'll . . ."

"You'll do what, Captain?" Hogan questioned, a touch of anger in his tone. His sudden, quiet arrival startled the two prisoners. "Actually, you'll do as I say if you want to get out of here. There's some very brave men—mine and McHale's—risking their lives for you and Mr. Parker. Now, you will be leaving in two hours; you'll need to be handcuffed, since you'll be prisoners under transport." Noting Parker's surprised look, he quickly added. "It'll be only for a short while. You'll be ambushed a few miles outside of camp and brought back here. Then the Underground will take you out tonight. Understood?" The two Navy men nodded.

#########

_**Ambush . . . and Rescue**_

"Got a problem, Colonel," Kinch stated as he climbed through the open bunk back to the common area. "The Underground reports that Hochstetter is setting up a roadblock. It sounds like he wants to intercept our 'prisoner transport.'" Hogan thought a moment, then answered. "Tell our contacts to stand by. We'll provide the ambush-as Abwehr. That's the one unit even Hochstetter respects, or is at least afraid of. Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau, you're with me on this one. Olsen, keep an eye on our Navy friends. Let me know when they're ready to leave."

Hogan and his team, now disguised as German secret intelligence agents, waited in the tunnels until Olsen reported that the staff car and truck had pulled into the camp. Then, it was off to ambush the Gestapo! Once in place, and well-hidden from the major and his minions, they waited in silence, their faces covered by masks, until they saw Hochstetter stop the transports.

McHale, angry at the delay, confronted the Gestapo officer. "Major Hochstetter, what is the meaning of this? We are on a tight schedule. It is imperative that Commander Kobiaji move these prisoners to a secure naval POW camp until his inspection tour is complete. I will take this matter up with Himmler if I have to!"

Hochstetter sneered, "I think not, Captain. I do not trust you-I trust nobody. Now, everyone out. Raus!"

"And I do not trust you, Major," a voice came from behind the Gestapo leader. Hochstetter turned and found himself facing a tall, masked officer in the uniform of the dreaded Abwehr. The man's voice held a dark edge of anger and danger. "We will be taking these prisoners," he stated. "You and your men will kneel and place your hands on your heads. You will remain in that position until we tell you to move-or you will be shot! You, too," the masked officer motioned to the drivers and guard. "And you will report this incident to no one unless you want to be sent to a prison camp. Do I make myself clear? "

"You do," Hochstetter replied.

"Just to be certain these men do not attempt to follow us, shoot out their tires. The other vehicles, too. They will have a long walk back to Hammelburg. Perhaps that will teach them not to interfere with Abwehr." A fusillade of bullets and the pop of exploding tires told Hochstetter to be prepared for a long walk. Another signal from Hogan and the Germans were rendered unconscious.

McHale and his crew were forced at gunpoint into a silent, fast-paced march. Only when they were deep in the surrounding forest at a safe distance from the Gestapo did their captors stop and remove their masks. "Slight change in plans, gentlemen," Hogan grinned. "We'll be going back through the emergency tunnel. Follow me."

McHale answered with a sardonic grin of his own. "Hogan, you and your team are just full of surprises. Glad you're on our side!"

#########

Parker blinked in disbelief. Sure, he'd been told there were tunnels, even seen the room directly under Barracks 2, but he'd never imagined the extent of the system. The entire camp was honeycombed with tunnels. And what tunnels! A radio room, storage rooms for civilian clothes and disguises like the ones Hogan and his team had worn, a laboratory, a darkroom, even a small printing press! And all this right under the Germans' noses! He turned as Carter commented, "Really something, huh, boy, I mean Ensign, sir? And it's all thanks to Colonel Hogan."

"And to the courage of my team and our friends in the Underground," the commanding officer stated with justified pride. "We've rescued over two hundred downed airmen and returned them to the skies. Hopefully, our efforts can bring this war to an end sooner."

"I hope so, too, Colonel," McHale replied. "Just like every sub we sink or patrol boat we capture does. Don't worry—nobody will ever hear anything about your operation from us. You guys are too valuable!" Christy, Chuck, Fuji, even Binghamton nodded in agreement. From past experience, Major Bonacelli thought so, too.

"Thanks," Hogan smiled. "Now, we gotta get you outfitted for the next stage of your little trip home to Voltafiore. Newkirk will handle the papers and LeBeau can take care of civilian clothes. Those uniforms are a dead giveaway and after all the trouble we went to getting you away from Hochstetter, well, we don't want a repeat rescue!" The colonel turned to Binghamton as he said, "That goes for you, too, Binghamton. We can use your old uniforms as part of our disguise wardrobe. Understood?"

A subdued captain agreed. Anything to get back to sunny Italy, even if this was a story he could never tell. No one would ever believe it anyway.

"The Underground will take you out of here tomorrow night. You'll be back aboard your PT boat in no time," the senior POW officer said. "You'll have to stay here in the tunnels today. LeBeau will be down with some food soon and there's a bunk room where you can sleep. I'll see you after morning roll call. Meanwhile, Commander, is there anything else you need?"

"Yeah. I'd like to contact the 73 boat—want to make sure Gruber hasn't set up a floating casino while we've been gone."

Hogan laughed. "Sounds like your version of Corporal Newkirk!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," the Britisher said. "But how are his safecracking skills?"

"And I think Fuji would like to compare recipes with Corporal LeBeau," Christy added. "Our POW is a mighty fine cook!"

The little Frenchman just smiled. "Avec plaisir. We can trade recipes and talk about the restaurants we will open after we win the war."

With some of Newkirk's finest forged papers and LeBeau's newly tailored civilian clothes, McHale and company were ready (more than ready, in fact) the next evening to head back to PT 73 and familiar territory. When Newkirk learned that the commander spoke fluent Italian, he and Major Bonacelli became workers heading home. Christy, Parker, and Binghamton now worked on a farm, while Fuji was a low-level staffer in the Japanese embassy. Hogan's Underground contacts had set up a series of safe houses; the colonel was actually pleased to open up a new escape route, especially now that he had contacts with the US Navy in the Mediterranean. All-in-all, a good deal.

McHale had some concern about unexplained disappearance of the "inspection team." Hogan smirked, "Any mention, even the merest rumor, of Abwehr involvement and nobody will ever mention the incident again."

"Especially Klink and Hochstetter," McHale laughed. "Thanks, Colonel, for everything. We'll contact you when we get back to the boat. And let me know if we can ever help you and your guys. The 73 boat will be there and you'll always be welcome aboard." As the Navy men turned to leave through the emergency tunnel, they gave a smart salute to Hogan and the team.

"Wonder if we'll ever see them again? I'd really like to meet the rest of the crew." Carter said. "Who knows?" Hogan replied, "But I'll bet it would be quite an adventure! Anchors aweigh, Commander McHale!"

And the 73 boat sank its fourth German sub on the way home.

_**-30-30-30-30-30-**_


End file.
